Draco Malfoy and the Boy Who Lived
by Eratosthenese
Summary: Draco's sixth year was supposed to be filled with glory and praise from his Dark Lord, but a series of unavoidable and unfortunate circumstances make it impossible for him to enjoy himself. Unrequited DMHP slash. R&R!
1. prologue

Draco Malfoy and the Boy Who Lived

By Eratosthenese

When you've been in love  
with someone who hates you,  
then will you understand.

For those who understand.

prologue

Draco Malfoy's father was in Azkaban and his mother was in the service of the Dark Lord. Death Eaters were wreaking havoc in the Muggle and Magical communities, and Draco found himself one of the few involved. He had been there when the Brockdale Bridge was destroyed and a dozen Muggle families were sent hurtling into the river below them. He was a witness to two very high profile murders of respected wizarding citizens. He had been there when a supposed hurricane had destroyed the West Country. He had even been assigned to practice his Imperius Curse on the Muggle Junior Minister, Herbert Chorley, who had reacted poorly from the improperly done spell and was now recuperating, Draco heard, in St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. How he had gotten there, Draco could only imagine, but now he found himself lying in his rich bed, enveloped in the smooth emerald silk sheets, not really feeling them at all.

One thing was on his mind, and he had tried so hard to suppress it all summer to no avail, that he simply succumbed to it, accepted that it just would not leave his consciousness.

He rolled over in his bed and buried his face in his pillow. The house was silent. He was going off to school soon, and he still had so much to do, and none of it was homework. A small knock on the door and Draco said, "What?", muffled by the pillow. The door opened a smidgen and then closed quietly. He lifted his head a few inches above his pillow, searching for the intruder, and in seeing no one, assumed it was their new house-elf.

After Harry Potter had freed Dobby, their old servant, Draco's father had searched ceaselessly for a new one. This house-elf was a small, submissive girl with a long thin nose, though not quite as protruding as Dobby's. She had great big green eyes which Draco couldn't stand to look at, and unnaturally large ears which folded over like a dogs.

"Some tea for Master Draco," squeaked Fitsy.

"Set it on the table," he said, dropping his head back onto his pillow. He heard a light clanking, then soft pads as Fitsy went to the door, opened it, and closed it noiselessly behind her. Draco had absolutely no interest in a cup of tea. He let it sit on its silver tray, steaming peacefully, and though his hands were cold and it was all he could do to stop from shivering, he couldn't bring himself to swallow anything.

He rubbed his face voraciously into his pillow before pulling himself out of his bed, as if a string were attached to the ruff of his neck and stood motionless for a while, letting the dizziness fade. He wanted to look out the window over his rich estate – a strong source of comfort in times of mental turmoil – but he knew that all he would see through his clean glass would be a sea of fog.

Instead, Draco momentarily contented himself by starring at his reflection in a full mirror on the opposite side of the room. He had lost a lot of weight over the holiday, and his blonde hair had lost its platinum hue. He cocked his head, and his mind turned to his mother. She, too, had lost a significant amount of weight, and her face had grown sullen and hollow, and so pale she almost seemed to glow. She had been very emotional recently, too, always checking in on Draco when unnecessary. He supposed it was just because his father was in Azkaban.

She was gone for the night with her sister, Bellatrix Lestrange. Draco had the same respect for his aunt as he did for his father.

Yawning, Draco left his room, abandoning his image in the mirror, grabbing his wand with him as he left. He was on his way to his father's library to study. He had been given a very important task by the Dark Lord himself, and initially leapt at the prospect, but his mother's constant overbearing behaviour had caused him to rethink. It was too late, however, to turn back now, and all he could do was hope to succeed.


	2. draco's detour

draco's detour

"Draco?"

Draco woke with a start when he heard his name being called. His face was stuck to the pages of the book he was reading, _Cursed Objects Made Easy_, drool dried along the side of his face. He slowly pried himself from the book and wiped his face clean and shook his head, yawning.

"Draco, where are you!"

"Coming!" he replied drearily, getting up to answer his mother's call. When he reached the door, he paused, his hand on the doorknob.

"What are you planning on doing, Cissy?" he heard his angry aunt frantically whisper.

"Stay out of it, Bella."

"I should tell the Dark Lord! I should tell him that you came within a hair's breadth of betraying his word!"

Deciding that he didn't want to hear any more of this in order to protect his mother from the Dark Lord, a skilled Legilimens, Draco threw the door open loudly and walked out, a slight strut in his step and an effort at a smug smile on his face. His cold grey eyes gleamed unreadably as they fell upon his aunt, who stood defiantly before him. She had heavily lidded eyes and a hint of beauty around her face, a startling contrast of dark compared to Draco's mother, who came running to him as soon as he entered.

"Draco, how are you? Did you have breakfast?"

"How much did you hear?" asked Bellatrix from behind Draco's mother.

"Hear of what?" said Draco politely, cocking his head to the right, inquiringly.

Narcissa threw a dirty look at her sister behind her, and led Draco into the living room, her arm around his shoulder.

* * *

Much of Draco's time had been spent studying. It was almost a month ago that his mother went to talk to Severus Snape, he learned, and between now and then, not much had happened. He had received his O.W.L.s – of which he earned three O's – and was keeping up a very secure line of correspondence with an old friend from Hogwarts, Davey Montague, who had informed Draco of some very interesting information. It seemed that when those two Weasley Twins had locked him in a Vanishing Cabinet at school, he was caught in a kind of passageway that led from the school to Borgin and Burkes. Apparently, he heard conversations from both sides when he was stuck in the middle. This gave Draco some insightful ideas which he was keen to undergo, but a trip to Knockturn Alley was necessary before he could carry through with his plan. He had sent an owl to Borgin, telling him to keep the second Vanishing Cabinet in his shop on hold, at least until he could visit the shop himself. Borgin had responded that Draco had no business requesting items be held on hold for him, and at that, Draco had sent back a fairly vicious howler saying that Borgin must not know who he was dealing with, that the stupid thing was broken anyway, and that if he very much valued his favourite appendage, then he would keep the Cabinet on hold for him. In addition, just for Borgin's cheek, Draco demanded that he find someone to fix it for him. It made Draco swell with power and confidence when Borgin wrote back that even though he did not think the Cabinet was broken, he would have someone come in and look at it for him. "Although it's possible and probable that the other cabinet of the pair is broken, I'll do anything I can do to make Mr Malfoy's life easier."

In addition to the studying and constant secret owls being sent to and from his house, Draco had been sleeping restlessly. In fact, he was busy having a very private dream when he was interrupted by his mother gently opening the door to his room a few weeks after his letter to Borgin.

"Draco? Darling, we're going to Diagon Alley to buy you're school things."

He didn't answer, instead concentrating hard on not rolling over until he had satisfactorily calmed himself.

"Darling?"

"I'll be ready in a couple minutes."

He heard the door close, and Draco groaned into his pillow. As he had feared, his dream was once again of Harry Potter, though far from resembling the ones he used to have about the boy back in his first few years of school. Those had pleasantly included Draco taunting Potter and often ended with Potter looking like a fool in front of a large crowd. More recent dreams, however, had included reenactments of the first time Draco and Potter had met in Diagon Alley six years ago, though both had grown a considerable amount and instead of Madam Malkin taking measurements, it was Potter.

Hoping to press the lingering image out of his mind, Draco pressed his eyes into his head with his palms until his head began to swim. He got up slowly and pulled his cloak on over his casual yet elegant wear. He was certainly not looking forward to shopping with his mother. He had an errand to run in Knockturn Alley that would be easier to accomplish without her, but whenever he spoke of doing his shopping, she insisted on accompanying him.

He left his room and met his mother outside the Malfoy Manor, just by the door in a specific place they had enchanted for apparition of people with Black or Malfoy blood. (Otherwise, their house was completely protected from any intrusion, apparition or otherwise.) He held on to his mother's arm, ready to apparate, and with a twist, an uncomfortable yet familiar sensation, and a _pop_, the Malfoy Manor had gone, and Draco found himself standing in an under-crowded and gloomy Diagon Alley.

"You need new dress robes, let's do that first."

"Really, Mother, I don't need you to come in with me."

"Nonsense, I've told you a thousand times that I'm coming with you."

Draco sneered, invisible to his mother's eye, and followed grudgingly as she led him into a deserted Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Madam Malkin came rushing out from behind a rack of dress robes with a measuring tape draped around her and her wand clutched in her hand.

"Gracious! Come in, come in, of course," she said. "What are you looking for?"

"He needs new dress robes, he's grown out of the last pair," said Narcissa, not at all showing any respect to the seamstress.

Draco made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat.

Madam Malkin clucked approvingly as she observed the hems of Draco's cloak, and shepherded him to behind the rack from which she had earlier emerged. She threw a long, handsome set of dark green robes over his head and summoned a pin cushion which slid onto her wrist. She started folding and pinning and Draco stood for what he believed to be a significantly ample amount of time, when he said, "I'm not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping _alone_."

Madame Malkin clucked again. "Now, dear, you mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with being a child—"

"Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you!" She had just pricked him lightly on the ankle, and her incompetence along with his mother's stubbornness was beginning to irritate him greatly. He stepped away from behind the rack and went to observe himself in the mirror, fairly pleased with the result. His handsome robes gleamed with needles around the hem and the sleeves, but other than that, the green flattered his features. His narcissistic moment was interrupted, however, when he saw three faces over his shoulder reflected in the mirror, one of which made his stomach give an uncomfortable lurch. Trying to hide his discomfort, he narrowed his eyes.

"If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in," he said.

"I don't think there's any need for language like that!" said Madam Malkin. Draco turned around to face them in time to see Potter and Ron Weasley pull out their wands as Madam Malkin came out from behind the dress robe rack. "And I don't want wands drawn in my shop either!"

"No, don't, honestly, it's not worth it…" said Hermione Granger to the two boys.

"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school," Draco sneered. "Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers," he added, noticing that a large bruise had indeed formed around her eye.

"That's quite enough! Madam—please—" Madam Malkin looked helplessly over her shoulder towards Draco's mother, who strolled out from behind the rack.

"Put those away," she said to Potter and Weasley. "If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last think you ever do." Draco tried not to flush at his mother's defensiveness.

"Really?" said Potter. He had grown a lot since Draco had last seen him, and was now almost as tall as Narcissa. He was really growing into a man… He took a few steps forward and starred defiantly in the face of Draco's mother. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"

A squeal diverted Draco's attention once again to Madam Malkin who was clutching her chest. "Really, you shouldn't accuse – dangerous thing to say – wands away, please!"

No one moved, but for an unpleasant smile that slid across Narcissa's face.

"I see that being Dumbledore's favourite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter," she said. "But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."

Draco's stomach clenched. Potter looked around the shop sarcastically. "Wow … look at that … he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"

In anger, Draco tried to reach Potter. He wanted to wrap his long, pale fingers around Potter's neck, but he stumbled over his untrimmed robes and, embarrassingly, Weasley gave a loud shout of laughter.

"Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" he said viciously to him, instead.

Narcissa put her own white hand on Draco's shoulder, restraining him from doing anything rash, and said, "It's all right, Draco. I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius."

Potter's wand rose higher, and Draco could sense the angry tension build up.

"Harry, no!" moaned Granger. She tried to push Potter's arm down to his side. "Think. … You mustn't. … You'll be in such trouble. …"

There was a moment where no one moved. The air seemed to freeze with the hatred emanating from both groups. Draco's gaze continued to linger on Potter, and as much as he tried to harden his gaze, he had the distinct impression that it wasn't coming off as spiteful as he wished. Suddenly, Madam Malkin fussed toward him, acting as though nothing were happening.

"I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just—"

"Ouch!" Draco slapped her hand away. His heart had stopped beating for a few moments, afraid that perhaps Madam Malkin would lift his sleeve and see his left forearm. He shook himself mentally and continued, "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother – I don't think I want these anymore—" He pulled his robes off over his head and threw them disrespectfully at Madam Malkin's feet. His left sleeve certainly did not need to come up any more.

"You're right, Draco," said his mother. She looked at Granger with a sneer on her handsome features. "Now I know the kind of scum that shops here. … We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."

As they made their way to exit out the door, Draco knocked into Weasley as hard as possible, avoiding all eye contact, and the two Malfoy's left the shop and made their way towards Twilfitt and Tatting's. The door closed just in time for Draco to hear Madam Malkin say, "Well, _really_!" before it slammed shut.

They passed the half-giant Rubeus Hagrid on their way out, but paid him no more attention than if he were a rat on the cobblestones. Neither Draco nor Narcissa said anything to each other.

* * *

With much difficulty, Draco had managed to distract his mother at Twilfitt and Tatting's by leading her towards a closet filled with elegant witch's dress robes. Mr Tatting, who noticed her observing the expensive fabrics, rushed over to her and proceeded to hold her attention long enough for Draco to slip out the door silently, and run back down Diagon Alley towards Knockturn, where he had intended to go all along.

He wearily ran down the street, only pausing to look over his shoulder at the only bright display on the streets, sporting the words "U-No-Poo", before continuing off out of sight. Draco had reached the entrance of Knockturn Alley, and gave a quick, precautionary glance around. Seeing no one, he slipped into the dark passage. He spent no time dawdling, not because most of the shops were empty, but because it had become dangerous to be seen buying or selling dark artifacts. Right before entering his target shop, he composed himself in order to better get his point across, straightening out his robes, and entered the shop, Borgin and Burkes.

Mr Borgin was standing behind the counter observing a sinister looking greenish-opal jewel through an eyepiece, when he looked up at the sound of the bell above the door. His hopeful and greedy expression, however, fell immediately into one of mingled resentment and fear when he saw who it was. Draco merely smiled.

"Afternoon, Borgin. I'm sure you remember what I'm here for." Draco looked down uninterestedly at the necklace Borgin was inspecting. Seeing that his eyes had faltered down, Borgin lifted his wand, pointed it at the necklace, and levitated it back to it's appropriate pedestal near the front of the shop before its label stating that it was cursed.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy. I remember our last correspondence vividly."

It was true, the last owl Draco had sent to the old man was less than friendly. "Good, then I'm assuming you've spoken to someone?"

"I must say, to you, Mr Malfoy, however, that the person who came in to inspect the Cabinet said that it was in perfect shape and functioned perfectly. It must be the other one you are planning on using that is broken."

"…And you know how to fix it?" This whole situation had Draco very stressed and he was getting increasingly antsy by the minute. He had come up with the idea on how to resolve the task set upon him by the Dark Lord, but carrying it out was a completely different story, and the oaf before him was certainly not making matters easier, despite his sniveling promise to do so.

"Possibly," said Borgin annoyingly. Draco rolled his eyes at the man's seeming unwillingness to help. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"

"I can't," replied Draco irritably. "It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."

Borgin licked his lips in a nervous manner. "Well, without see it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" Draco sneered. "Perhaps this will make you more confident." Taking a great leap of faith, Draco shoved his sleeve up his arm and showed Borgin the black burn vividly contrasting against his sheen white skin, the Dark Mark. It consoled him somewhat to see Borgin's eyes widen in fear. "Tell anyone, and there will be retribution," said Draco smugly, pushing his sleeve back down, having made his point. "You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention." Arrangements could be easily made.

"There will be no need for—"

"I'll decide that. Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep _that_ one safe," he pointed to the other Vanishing Cabinet of a pair that stood near the front of the store, "I'll need it."

"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?" Borgin was certainly not doing a good job of masking that he did not like to be a part of such shady business, and Draco did not take to it kindly.

"No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."

"Of course not … sir."

Draco smirked proudly as Borgin bowed. At last, he was receiving the sort of treatment and respect as his father had been given, and that alone, livened his spirits. He hastily wiped the smile from his face, however, when Borgin looked back up, not wanting to seem unaccustomed to such treatment.

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"

"Naturally, naturally." He bowed again.

Draco avoided the temptation to smirk once again, and walked out of the shop, feeling slightly elated and with a hint of less weight on his shoulders. The bell above the door tinkled and Draco made his casual way back over to Twilfitt and Tatting's, passing by a wall he could have sworn made a _whooshing _sound when he walked by it, though nothing was there.

* * *

"Where were you? I was worried sick! What are you thinking to go wandering off in times like this _alone_?"

"_We're _the ones every one is afraid of, Mother. Nothing happened to me."

Draco found Narcissa wandering the streets of Diagon Alley in a panicked frenzy, and they had fallen into a row the moment he had walked up to her, insisting nothing had happened to him. After she had reassured herself that he was, in fact, perfectly fine, she began to yell at him. Too elated by his small but recent victory to be quite bothered by it, he gave her the courtesy of yelling herself hoarse at his "recklessness" and "lack of respect for all those who were risking their necks to save him!" until they got back to the Malfoy Manor where he retreated to his room and fell onto his bed, his head resting on his hands, a wide smile spread across his face.

It wasn't long before he fell asleep and began to dream a dream that he would greatly regret in the morning, involving a somewhat skewered recollection of his last encounter in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

* * *

A/N : Everything has been updated! Hopefully now everything is absolutely canon. In addition, any scenes in which Harry is present, the dialogue is identical. This goes for throughout the rest of the story.  
And authors live off reviews, so if you stopped by and read it, let me know! Thanks!


	3. the slug club

the slug club

Draco made his way to King's Cross with the accompaniment of his mother, though she left him at the entrance, and he passed through the doorway onto Platform 9 and ¾ alone. He quickly found Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle in a compartment empty but for themselves, into which they hoisted his luggage and caged owl for him and shoved it in the overhead rack. He had indeed been granted prefect once again this year, but he had not pinned the badge to his robes. Without the added duties of school prefect, he would have plenty to worry about with his current task, and instead settled down in the compartment. Goyle went on about what he had done over the holiday and Crabbe took out a comic from his trunk and sat down and began to read. Draco sprawled himself across two seats, lying down and starring up at the ceiling.

It wasn't long before Pansy Parkinson found them, as well, and jumped at the opportunity at sitting with Draco's head in her lap, and the minute he conceded, she began to play gently with his hair. It had a very relaxing effect on Draco, and he found his eyes slowly drifting shut when Blaise Zabini, a high-cheekboned black boy with slanted eyes from their year sat down opposite Draco. They had roomed together for quite some time and were a somewhat friendly rivalry for top Slytherin student. Draco was winning.

"Morning, Zabini. Have a nice holiday?"

"Yeah, my mum got married again. You?"

Draco put on a smirk and replied, "Oh yes. Very eventful."

They continued to chat numbly as more students arrived and got onto the train – no more, joining their compartment – until the train whistled and rumbled into life. Draco briefly got up and looked out the window to see, of all people, Potter run onto the train and the rest of the Weasleys waving to him as he got on. (_Git_, he thought to himself.) The woman ran to keep up with the train shouting something until it had rounded a corner. Draco's stomach did an unpleasant lurch as he saw Potter disappear through the window and retreat back into his own secluded compartment, probably on the other end of the train, and he shifted in his seat and reached up to his trunk. He rummaged around until his hands grabbed a hold of a piece of parchment, a quill and ink.

"What's that for?" asked Pansy, looking inquiringly at what he was pulling from his trunk.

"I need to ask a favour from an old friend."

"Can I do anything?" she asked, sounding annoyingly neglected.

Draco looked at her and raised a thin eyebrow, with a mischievous smirk creeping along half of his shapely lips. He smoothed out the parchment against his knees and began to write a letter to Fenrir Greyback.

There was a small moment of silence when Crabbe put down his comic book and pulled out what looked like a shrunken head from his pocket. "Check out what my dad got me before I left this year!" he said. Pansy gave a shudder of disgust and cried, "What _is_ that think?"

"It's a head!" he said gleefully, his face illuminated with a great stupid smile as he looked down at the object with absolute reverence.

"It's revolting," said Zabini, who looked as if it was everything he could do not to reach over and slap the stupid thing out of Crabbe's hand.

"Get rid of it. Draco, look how gross!" Pansy pulled on Draco's sleeve and he just managed to keep his quill from drawing a great long line of ink across his letter.

"Will you just!" he said to her, a bit more upsetly than what was called for. He looked back down at the parchment and cleared his throat. "I mean… yes, Pansy, darling, it's terribly disgusting."

"What are you talking about," said Goyle, leaning in to better observe the head in Crabbe's hands. "It's awesome! What does it do?"

Draco, who had not actually taken the time to look at the object that was causing all this commotion, drew his eyes level with the shrunken and shriveled head being held out before him and curled his lip in repugnance. "Ugh! Get it away from my face!" He leaned back further into the seat and Crabbe hurriedly pulled it closer to him.

"It's a paperweight," said Crabbe in a somewhat neglected voice, trying as hard as he could to defend his newfound treasure. "Dad said that when I'm a grown man and have a nice study like his, it'll come in really handy."

Goyle had not taken his hungry eyes off it and just nodded, but when Draco looked at him and cleared his throat demandingly, Goyle tore his eyes away from it and just shook his head vehemently.

The train rolled lazily through misty hills and a weak sun barely shone through the window. A while had passed before another disturbance. By the time he had finished his letter, asking Greyback to check in on Borgin every once in a while to give him a good scare and make sure the Cabinet was still there, the prefects had finished with their briefing at the front of the train, because a mediocre storm of students with gleaming badges on their chests were passing by the compartment door and Draco looked up, curious to see who was now a prefect. No one he knew, no one interesting.

"Didn't you get your prefect badge?" asked Pansy, looking over at Draco in the most seductive voice she could muster, which still amounted to nothing.

Draco nodded. "I don't need that this year, though. Being a prefect doesn't mean anything except being a slave the rules."

Pansy gave a small cry of laughter and watched as Draco sent his owl through the window on the train, his letter to Greyback attached safely to Morgana's leg when, with disgust, he recognized two Gryffindors, a certain red head and another Mudblood who happened to walk by outside their compartment, and made a rude hand gesture at them before putting his parchment, quill and ink away, and laying back down on Pansy's lap, a satisfied sneer on his face. Pansy had found this extremely funny and gave another shriek of laughter.

"Stupid Mudbloods and blood traitors. They shouldn't allow their kind in the school," said Draco. Pansy nodded sympathetically and Zabini looked up from a book he was reading on the Dark Arts.

"It's an insult to the rest of us," he agreed, "letting such filth learn in the same classrooms as us. It's barbaric, is what it is."

Pansy nodded again. "As long as we have a Muggle-lover like Dumbledore as Headmaster, though, nothing will get done."

"We might not for long," said Draco with an overconfident smirk. Everyone's head snapped to look at him. Pleased with the attention, he put on an obviously false innocent face and said, "What with the war, and everything. The Dark Lord won't want him around. Him and St _Potter_. They'll both have to go, and I'd wager my wand that at least one of them will bite it within this year."

Pansy gazed at Draco admiringly following this statement, who continued to preach.

"Honestly, I'm surprised no Death Eaters killed them before, but now that the Dark Lord has risen once again to power, neither one of them will last long. Potter had his precious Mudblood mother the first time around, but no one will be there to protect him when the Dark Lord finally has his chance to finish him off. Especially once the old man is—"

He was interrupted when a small third-year came shyly into the compartment. She was carrying a few scrolls, one of which she held out to Zabini, her head down. "I'm supposed to deliver this to Blaise Zabini."

The minute he took his scroll neatly tied with purple ribbon, she dashed out of the compartment. Draco frowned and sat up, curious to see what it was.

"What is it?" asked Pansy, hoping that the answer would return Draco to her lap.

"An invitation," said Zabini as his eyes scanned the parchment. "The new Professor, he's asking me down to his compartment for lunch."

"Who's the teacher?" said Draco, taking the invitation and reading it in turn.

"Slughorn? Ever heard of him?"

"Didn't he used to be the Head of Slytherin House? He knew my grandfather. Father said he retired a while ago, I wonder what he's doing back at Hogwarts?"

Zabini shrugged and said, "Well, I'll see you when I get back, then."

* * *

The sun had already begun to set and the lamps had already been lit for a while when Zabini made his way back into the compartment, looking somewhat tired, yet otherwise unfazed by the lunch with Slughorn. He turned to shut the door to the compartment, but for some inexplicable reason, it stopped a few inches from the door with a slamming noise.

"What's wrong with this thing?" an angry Zabini said as he repeatedly tried closing the door, before it was flung wide open and Zabini was sent flying onto Goyle's lap.

Draco was frowning as Zabini and Goyle continued to glare at each other, wondering what had happened. As Goyle got up and closed the door, something white caught Draco's eye and he looked across the compartment and swore he saw something that resembled a shoe fly up into the luggage rack. He couldn't help but let a smile cross his face, and he began to snigger slightly.

Zabini was pushed back into his seat, looking somewhat ruffled, Goyle sat back down, and Crabbe returned to reading his comic book. Draco lay back down and rested his head back on Pansy's lap and she continued once again to contently stroke his blonde hair.

"So Zabini, what did Slughorn want?" said Draco.

Still glowering at Goyle, Zabini said, "Just trying to make up to well-connected people. Not that he managed to find many."

Draco's face burned. Why had he not been invited? Somewhat upset, he said, perhaps a little more forcefully than normal, "Who else had he invited?"

"McLaggen from Gryffindor."

"Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry," said Draco.

"—someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw—"

"Not him, he's a prat!" said Pansy, perhaps trying to please Draco.

"—and Longbottom, Potter and that Weasley girl," finished Zabini.

Draco suddenly sat up in his seat, irritated and disbelieving, whacking Pansy's hand away from his hair.

"He invited _Longbottom_?"

"Well," said Zabini, indifferently. "I assume so, as Longbottom was there."

"What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?"

Zabini shrugged.

"Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at '_the Chosen One_,'" sneered Draco, hoping to convince himself that the hate in his voice was genuine, though recurring dreams were making it harder and harder to do so, "but that Weasley girl! What's so special about _her_?"

Pansy's eyes flitted to Draco's face as subtly as she could, but Draco had not missed it. "A lot of boys like her. Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!" It was common knowledge among the Slytherins that back in their fourth year, after Draco and Pansy had had a fight after the Yule Ball, she had tried to use Zabini to get back at Draco, but he had proved un-wooable.

"I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like." Despite Zabini's cold response, Pansy's smile widened and she looked very pleased with herself. Draco leaned back into her lap and she spared no time in returning to stroking his hair.

"Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favourite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or—"

"I wouldn't bank on an invitation," said Zabini, cutting Draco off. "He asked me about Nott's father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry he didn't look happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he? I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters."

Draco's heart began to sear with anger. He forced out a humourless laugh. "Well, who cares what he's interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher." Draco yawned. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?" It was an offhand way of hiding his jealousy that he led them into the next conversation over which he would be the topic of interest, and possibly some well-earned admiration.

Pansy's hand immediately fell from Draco's hair. "What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?"

"Well, you know," he said, fighting hard to hide a smirk. "I might have—er—moved on to bigger and better things."

He was pleased with the reaction this statement had earned. Besides Pansy's slow resuming of stroking his hair, both Crabbe and Goyle looked dumbfounded and Zabini had even allowed a look of curiosity to cross his conceited face.

"Do you mean—_Him_?"

Draco shrugged. "Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it.… When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone's got? Of course he isn't…. It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown." Even as he said the words, he knew he was only trying to convince himself.

"And you think _you'll_ be able to do something for him?" Zabini certainly didn't look convinced. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"

"I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for." Draco said this in barely a whisper, hoping to lure them in with more than just volume. His audience didn't disappoint. Crabbe and Goyle were still staring open-mouthed, like a pair of gargoyles, and Pansy looked at him with a point of admiration she had never before reached. "I can see Hogwarts," said Draco, pointing out to the grounds from behind the blackened window. "We'd better get our robes on."

As Goyle reached up for his trunk, Draco could have sworn he heard something that very much resembled a bump and a gasp, and though he could see nothing as he looked up at the luggage rack for the sound, frowning, he resigned himself that his original notion was correct: Something – or rather some_one_ – was hiding up in the luggage rack and had prevented Zabini from closing the door earlier, and he had a very strong suspicion of who it was. After all, how many students at Hogwarts had an Invisibility Cloak?

Hoping to throw the invisible person off, he pulled his school robes on, locked his trunk and pulled a thick brand new traveling cloak from Twilfitt and Tatting's on just as the train was slowing to an unsteady stop.

Goyle was the first to exit the compartment once the train had completely halted, followed by Crabbe and Zabini.

"You go on," said Draco to Pansy, who was standing in the doorway with her hand outstretched for him to take it. "I just want to check something."

Pansy left with a somewhat dejected look, but Draco could not care less. The train was almost empty as people continued to pass the door on their ways out to the platform. He moved over to the door, closed it and pulled down the blinds, so no one could see inside. He bent down over his trunk and reopened it, a fine distraction to whoever was hiding in the luggage rack above him. Draco was certain that whoever it was, was still up there, not having had a chance to escape just yet.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" Draco's plan had worked flawlessly. Without warning, he had pointed his wand at the place where the invader was surely hidden in the luggage rack, and less than a second later, a great crash was heard and the floor of the compartment shook, leaving at Draco's feet, an uncovered Harry Potter, oddly frozen in the position of a fetus, his invisibility cloak trapped beneath him. Despite his strange appearance, the only thing Draco could think of were his lips, so very much like those of the Harry Potter in his last dream. To hide his discomfort at these thoughts, he gave a broad, victorious grin.

"I thought so," he said happily. "I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back…."

Draco let his eyes wander down Potter's body, hungrily, and then linger for a split second longer on the childish, white trainers on Potter's feet.

"You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter." (He'd made sure of that.) "But while I've got you here…"

Without a moment's hesitation, before he changed his mind, and just to try to convince himself that he loathed the boy rather than dreamt of him, he brought his foot down on Potter's face, hard, and a satisfying crack told Draco that he had succeeded in breaking his nose. Blood was gushing everywhere, covering Potter's face.

"That's from my father. Now, let's see…."

Draco pulled the cloak out from under Potter's frozen body and threw it over him.

"I don't reckon they'll find you till the train's back in London," said Draco in what he hoped was a dangerous voice. "See you around, Potter … or not." Making sure he stood on Potter's fingers as he left the train, Draco exited, carrying his trunk with him, and leaving behind a bleeding Harry Potter.


	4. snape victorious

snape victorious

Smirking unconvincingly to himself, Draco made his way off the train and onto the station. He passed by a few strange looking people he had never seen before, including a young witch with mousy hair who looked extremely depressed, and rejoined the rest of his posse on the station.

"There you are," said Pansy. "Where were you?"

"I'll tell you in the carriage," said Draco slyly.

She smiled and slipped her hand forcefully into his as they made their way to where the horse-less carriages would be waiting for them to take them to Hogwarts. As soon as the moon peaked behind a foggy sheet of cloud, however, Draco stopped in his tracks.

His heart dropped.

Instead of a pack of carriages waiting for them with harnesses tied to nothing, was a pack of carriages with skeletal, black, winged horse-like _things_. He wracked his brain. He knew he had learned about these once… with that oaf of a half-blood, Hagrid… Thespers? Thestrals! Those animals that liked the smell of blood and that you could only see once you had seen death.

It simply could not be true, that the Hogwarts carriages were pulled by animals that had been deemed dangerous by the Ministry of Magic, yet here they were, suddenly standing before him as real as the girl holding his hand. He swallowed hard, but when everyone stopped and turned to ask what was wrong, why he had stopped moving, he forced out a smile, and a distant laugh in a voice that sounded anything but his own.

"Nothing," he lied.

Draco had not at all prepared for this. He should have known that with everything he had seen over the past summer, Thestrals would become visible to him, but the sight of the black, winged horses was more shocking than anything he could have expected. A kind of reality check which he had not at all wanted nor expected.

"N-Nothing, nothing's wrong," he stammered again, still grimacing a fake smile which he was sure was convincing no one. He cleared his throat and let his face fall back into a relaxed smirk of sheer Malfoyish-ness. "Let's find an empty carriage."

It didn't take long before they found a carriage that had only a few first years in it, which Goyle promptly scared out along with the help of Crabbe's shrunken head, and Draco got in. A big grin crossed his features when he heard the engine of the scarlet steam engine behind them roar into life and the Hogwarts Express began to leave Hogsmeade Station.

"So, what took you so long in the train, Draco?" said Pansy, who sat next to him, perhaps too close for comfort. He inched forward in his seat, so she fell off his shoulder, and leaned in to talk to the other three.

"You'll never believe this," he started, and without hesitation, delved into the story of what had happened on the train between him and Potter. "…and blood was just flying everywhere!" he finished after a gross imitation of a breaking nose. "Anyway, I covered him with that stupid Cloak of Invisibility he has so no one will find him till he's back in London."

"You're so clever," said Pansy admiringly as Crabbe and Goyle guffawed appreciatively. She continued stroking Draco's arm seductively and added, "I can see why _He_ wants you working—"

"Shut up, will you?" said Draco, hitting her arm away, and barely missing her face. "I don't want anyone to hear you talking like that. Make sure you don't tell _anyone_."

Pansy nodded, frightened, and shyly lay her hand back on Draco's arm. Crabbe and Goyle were avoiding Draco's eyes, unsure whether or not to be laughing or frowning at Pansy, and instead doing a gross combination of the two, and Zabini looked, unaffected, out the black window. Draco knew he would apologize to Pansy later, or else it would be a while before she released his tensions in that way she could, but all he could think of now was that he may have had made a potentially life-threatening mistake in telling his friends as much as he did, and with Potter in the room…

The Thestral-drawn carriages pulled bumpily through the Hogwarts gates and soon pulled in front of the castle. As he dismounted the carriage, Draco made it a point to avoid looking the white-eyed creatures head on, and made his way up to the castle, Crabbe and Goyle following him, Zabini on one side, and Pansy clutching hopelessly onto him.

It was with great exasperation that Draco saw a long line waiting to get into the school. Many people around him were shivering and complaining, asking themselves what was going on, when he heard familiar irritating voices behind him.

"What the bloody hell are we waiting for? I'm so hungry I could eat a hippogriff!"

"Oh, Ronald! Isn't it obvious? With the heightened security at Hogwarts, we're sure to be inspected before we enter."

"That's bloody pointless. Who in the world would be right stupid enough to try to bring something into the castle that could be confiscated?"

Draco wasn't sure he wanted to make a scene and he uncharacteristically kept his gaze determinedly forward, hoping that his companions would not notice Weasley and Granger behind them, but alas, to no avail…

"Oh, look, Draco! See who's trailing in our footsteps!" said Pansy, grinning disagreeably at Granger.

He sighed, but by the time he had turned around to see the two non-suspecting Gryffindors, he had his waspish grin in place. "Leave it, Pansy, sweetheart," he said, watching Weasley who was impressively scowling. Crabbe and Goyle were in place behind Draco, their fists clenched. Zabini, however, besides a quick glance over his shoulder, was purposefully ignoring the situation. "They're not worth the trouble this early in the year."

Granger lifted a surprised eyebrow.

"Don't act so amazed, Mudblood," said Draco coolly. "There are better things we could be doing." He turned around and pushed past Crabbe and Goyle, who were still staring threateningly at the Gryffindors for a few more moments, frowning dangerously, before they too followed Draco back towards the line which had advanced.

By the time they reached the entrance to the castle, Filch was standing there with Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick on either side of him. He was holding a long thin object which Draco suspected to be a Secrecy Sensor. Draco, Pansy, Goyle and Zabini all passed with no trouble at all, but Crabbe's shrunken head caused the sensor to go off, and he had to turn it in to Professor Sprout, who was watching him with suspicious eyes. Draco threw one last menacing look at Weasley when he heard him snigger before he continued past the doorway.

They passed through the majestic Entrance Hall into the Great Hall where they quickly sat down at the Slytherin table, closest to the door. Draco's stomach rumbled. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until he sat down in front of an empty plate and goblet.

A girl, Daphne Greengrass, sat down on the other side of Draco with a sly smile, and Pansy, on his left, immediately seized his face and pressed her lips against his, her eyes still open and observing the other sixth year Slytherin girl. Draco pushed himself away from Pansy in annoyance and looked around absently. He allowed a smirk to cross his features when he confirmed to himself that Potter wasn't there.

"What are you smiling about?" said Theodore Nott, who had just taken a seat across from Draco.

Draco nodded in the direction of the Gryffindor table, his eyes sparkling maliciously. "Notice anything different? Anything … _missing_, perhaps?"

Nott spun around and stared at the Gryffindor table, frowning, but before he could come to any conclusions, Pansy burst out with glee, "Potter's not there!" Sure enough, between Weasley and Granger, where the ruffle-haired boy normally sat, was just empty air. Nott frowned and turned to look back at Draco.

"Well, where is he?"

Draco smirked and glanced sideways at Daphne, who was also trying to hide curiosity, though her attempt was feeble. He motioned for her to lean in, which she did immediately, hungry eyes. "I broke his nose on the train and petrified him."

"Are you mad!" said Nott, as Daphne started giggling madly and stroking Draco's arm in an adoring fashion. (Pansy was looking the other way, spreading the story down the table.) "Someone'll find him and he'll tell them the whole thing! You could get expelled for something like that!"

Draco shook his head. "Do you really think I'm stupid enough for that to happen? I covered him with that stupid Invisibility Cloak he has. By the time any one finds him, he'll be back in London. Besides, if anyone _does_ find him, the great _St Potter_ has too much pride to tell anyone that I broke his nose."

Nott leaned back, clearly trying to think of another reason that what Draco did was a bad idea, but the glimmer of jealousy was in his eyes, and Draco did not miss it. He smirked to himself and looked back over to the Gryffindor table. His throat clenched, but he ignored it, instead turning back to Daphne who had never ceased in petting him. He lifted his chin up proudly at her with a Malfoy smile, before Pansy realised what was happening, and reached over to hug Draco, "accidentally" spilling over a goblet of pumpkin juice into Daphne's lap simultaneously.

"Oops, sorry," she said, smirking.

Draco turned his attention down the people to see many of his fellow Slytherins smiling at him and giving him big thumbs up. A few Ravenclaws closest to the table were frowning at him, however. He smiled at a third year girl who was staring at him with wide, fearful eyes and winked in a manner that said, "Damn straight." She spun around back to her table so fast that she knocked her plate off the table.

Pansy's voice sounded in his ear.

"I already told everyone down this side of the table." She gave him a smile that said, "Aren't you proud of me?" as she slipped her hand eagerly up his thigh. He looked at her, and flung her hand away from him. He was not in the mood. He looked back up at the staff table. No one had noticed anything, and if they had, they were certainly not letting on that their precious "Chosen One" was missing.

However, at that moment, the half-giant oaf Hagrid had stumbled in looking a bit pressed, oblivious and pleased with himself. He walked over to Dumbledore – Draco's heart gave an unpleasant squirm at the sight of the peaceful old man and his arm twinged slightly – and whispered something frantically into his ear. Draco's favourite professor, Severus Snape, seemed to have overheard and walked over to the other side of the Headmaster. He mumbled something, his expression unchanging, and then left the room. Hagrid looked after him, somewhat confused, before taking a hesitant seat in his usual place. Draco frowned, wondering what the exchange could have been about, purposefully ignoring the fact that it could possibly have anything to do with Potter.

As soon as the last people had entered the Great Hall and taken their seats, the doors to the Great Hall opened and in came Professor McGonagall, for whom Draco had a secret kind of respect if it weren't for the fact that she was the Head of Gryffindor. She was carrying a very old, dirty hat and a long scroll. Behind her, followed a long line of terrified looking first-years about to be sorted.

"Psst! Malfoy!"

Draco looked around as McGonagall introduced the sorting ceremony and saw that some seventh year he didn't know was calling him. His smiling face was surrounded by many other curious and hungry looking seventh year Slytherins.

"Is it true you broke Potters nose and sent him back to London?"

Draco smirked and threw them a wink at that side of the table before turning back to the sorting which had only just begun. Pansy was twirling the pumpkin juice in her goblet, head resting in hand, looking disappointed.

The Sorting Hats song had just ended, something about being united and standing together, and the first student was sorted into Ravenclaw. It wasn't until the sixth first year that Slytherin welcomed a miniscule looking boy with red hair named Benjamin, Paul. Draco did his best not to fall asleep during the sorting by recounting his tail again and again to those around him, none of which seemed to get bored of the subject, and with every reenactment of a breaking nose, the laughter grew and was luckily drowned out by the cheering from the sorting.

Before he was aware that the last student became a Gryffindor, heaps of food appeared and Crabbe and Goyle had already piled most of everything onto their plates. Draco's appetite was minimal, but he nevertheless helped himself to everything within reach. Halfway through dinner, the doors to the Great Hall opened and Draco choked on the bite of chicken in his mouth as he saw with horror that Snape was leading Potter into the hall, his face coated with dried blood and still in Muggle attire. He watched him, absolutely petrified, as Potter rushed to take his seat at the Gryffindor table at the far end of the hall. People were standing up and staring at the bloody boy and a murmur of curiosity was running through the hall. A couple Slytherins looks questioningly over at Draco, but he paid them no heed.

Potter took his seat beside Weasley and Granger, who immediately siphoned the blood off his face with her wand.

The food before them turned to desserts, but Draco felt strangely sick at the sight of Potter there. He hoped that he was right in assuming that Potter's pride would not cause him to go to a teacher and say what had happened, and tried to calm down a bit. He grabbed some treacle tart and started defending the situation to the still curious crowd of Slytherins with confidence that suggested he was not at all worried about the situation.

"I can't believe it," he said with a laugh. "The precious 'boy who lived' is gone for a matter of minutes and already everyone is wondering where he is! Can't even take care of himself."

Pansy laughed and began stroking Malfoy's arm possessively, inviting others to join her in finding the whole situation amusing.

"You should have seen him," said Draco amongst all the laughter, and he pretended to break his own nose then made a grotesque and pained face, an uncanny resemblance to Potter after Draco had stomped on his face.

The laughter rose again, and Draco looked over to the Gryffindor table just in time to see Potter turn his head away from him with a sour look on his face.

"You're so amazing, Draco," said Daphne from Draco's right.

Pansy frowned and turned Draco's head to face her and said, "Yes, you're so brave. Nothing scares you, does it, Draco?"

At that time, Professor Dumbledore stood up and the hall silenced instantly. Draco's stomach churned.

With a broad smile, he spread his arms wide and said, "The very best of evenings to you."

Draco saw with horror that one of Dumbledore's hands was scorched and looked as though it had died. He swallowed uncomfortably and looked away. As the hall began to whisper from the appearance of his blackened hand, Dumbledore smiled and covered it with his sleeve.

"Nothing to worry about. Now… to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you. I am, of course, forced to remind you that the Forbidden Forest is so named for a reason, and Mr Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual…"

"Potter's been made captain, I'm sure," muttered Draco to Crabbe in a bitter voice. Crabbe gave a stupid chuckle of agreement.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Professor Slughorn"—Slughorn stood up and took a small bow—"is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."

Goyle choked on a cupcake he was eating and Draco's hand moved so suddenly from surprise that he knocked his goblet of pumpkin juice over.

"Potions?"

"_Potions?_"

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," continued Dumbledore louder so as to be heard over the continued muttering of the word "potions", "will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Draco's head spun in Potter's direction as he heard him yell, "No!" He gave a proud grin and glanced back up to the staff table where Snape raised a lazy hand with a satisfied expression on his face. Talking had erupted throughout the Hall at this unexpected information.

Draco was starting to lose focus. He pulled out his wand and began levitating in turn each of his eating paraphernalia.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and waited a few moments until the Hall had cleared itself of all sound before continuing. "Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength."

Nothing new, thought Draco. He levitated his fork.

"I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer," Draco levitated his goblet, "we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff." He muttered a charm and gave his knife legs. "I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them – in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of bed after hours." Draco's knife was dancing on what was left of his treacle tart. "I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."

Draco let his knife fall when he heard the Dumbledore had finished and looked up. The Headmaster was smiling serenely over the Great Hall.

"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possible wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"

Draco got up with the rest of the school and made his way towards the Slytherin common room. He was, he suddenly realised, intensely exhausted, and was looking forward to a night's dreamless sleep.


	5. missing class

**missing class**

Draco woke up on the first day of classes, starving and completely drained of energy as if he had been working all night, and his thighs were aching. He lay in bed for a long time trying to remember what could have possibly made him feel so spent. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander to the dreams that had haunted and graced his subconscious the previous night, when the image of ruffled black hair and a lightning bolt scar caused him to sit straight upright in bed, his emerald sheets falling off him, eyes wide open.

He pulled the covers off himself and made his way wearily to the bathroom, walking somewhat hunched over. The cool white tiles were awakening to his senses, and sent a shiver running through his spine. What he needed, he thought to himself, was a look at himself in the mirror. Leaning against the sink, he gazed back into his own morning eyes. He did not look as bad as he had back at the Malfoy Manor. He had regained some of the weight he'd lost over the summer as well as some colour. His hair was starting to fall back into it's natural platinum sheen, and his grey eyes did not look so dark or washed out, but had that familiar beguiling twinkle he liked so much about them. Draco splashed some icy water from the faucets on his face and let droplets of water run from his bangs down his features as he continued to stare at his reflection. It gave him the eerie look of crying, yet the rest of his face was emotionless, neutral. Any onlooker would have only seen a boy with a wet face…

Hastily, he pulled a green towel with the word "Draco" embroidered on the bottom in silver (he'd be damned if any of the other buffoons he shared a dorm with used his towel) and dried his face and hair. By the time he had finished cleaning up and made his way back into the room, the other four occupants had woken up, and Zabini was already dressed.

"'Morning, you're up early," he said to Draco as he emerged from the bathroom.

There was no need for a response other than a casual shrug of the shoulders as Draco made his way back to his own bed and pulled out his uniform from his trunk.

"I'll see you all down at breakfast, then. Catch up with you in class." And Zabini left the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet _click_.

Draco slipped out of his robe and delicately removed his pajamas, relieved that the problem which had plagued him during the nighttime had now subsided, thanks in great part to the cold water. It felt somehow comforting to find himself once again in his Hogwarts uniform. He always thought the green and silver complimented his natural complexion, and the embroidered Slytherin patch over his heart radiated a prideful heat that often – to the discomfort and irritation of students from other houses – emanated a kind of cockiness and hauteur in much of his behaviour.

By the time Draco was done getting dressed, Nott had already gone down to the Great Hall to rejoin Zabini, and Crabbe and Goyle were waiting dutifully next to the door for Draco to lead the way.

The first breakfast for sixth years was a much more complicated ordeal than normal. Snape was walking up and down the table checking O.W.L. grades and what classes each student would be able to continue to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe had passed very few of those which Draco had qualified for, as had Goyle. Both of them were signed up for Charms, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures. Neither had gotten a passing grade for Potions. Zabini was given the same schedule as Draco, having passed everything they signed up for ("I see you received an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts and in Potions, Draco. I'll certainly look forward to not only having you in my class but to see you carry on with my old subject. I'll be sure to inform Professor Slughorn of your exceeding skill in that subject"). After they had finished eating and their time tables had been cleared, Nott went off to Ancient Runes, while the other four boys headed down to the common room for a free period.

Luckily, Draco had not had to spend much time with Pansy, as she had Divination as her first class, but he grudgingly promised to sit with her when they met up for Defense an hour later, and after a well-rested lounge in the cold, underwater common room, the four of them haltingly made their way to class.

There was already a line to enter the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom when they arrived, and Draco saw with an uncomfortable jolt that Potter and his friends were only a few people ahead of them, but the image of the slender boy was pushed forcefully and immediately out of his brain when a warm hand slipped into his own.

"Guess who!" said a very excited Pansy, and Draco jumped when he felt her free hand slip into his pocket.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled it away, spinning around to face her with a strained smile. "Good morning, darling," he said through a fake, toothy grin. After a few thankfully short-lived moments, the doors to the classroom opened and Professor Snape stepped out and silence enveloped the hallway.

"Inside."

When Draco had entered the classroom, it was as though he had walked into Snape's old dungeons. The curtains were drawn and the room was lit by candles. Gruesome pictures lined the walls of people, all of whom were in pain or else donning strange injuries Draco rather didn't want to know about. The room was nearly silent as everyone took their seats, Pansy pushing herself closed to Draco and never letting go of his hand. It was starting to sweat.

"I have not asked you to take out your books," said Snape as he closed the door and made his way to his desk, where he spun around and faced them all. Draco saw Granger from the corner of his eye as she dropped her copy of _Confronting the Faceless_ into her bag. "I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."

As his eyes roamed the room, Draco could not help but notice that they rested for a split second longer on Potter's than anyone else's.

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe. Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be much more advanced."

Snape began to walk around the room, lowering his voice.

"The Dark Arts," he continued, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."

Draco's lips curled into a hungry smile. _Finally_, he thought to himself, _a teacher who knows what he's talking about_.

Professor Snape raised his voice slightly and continued, "Your defenses must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures," he billowed around the classroom, indicating pictures as he passed, "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" (a picture of a witch screaming in seemingly indescribable pain) "feel the Dementor's Kiss" (a blank-eyed wizard huddling against a wall) "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" (a bloody pulp).

Some Gryffindor squeaked, "Has an Inferius been seen, then? Is it definite, is he using them?"

Draco bit his tongue.

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past, which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now…" Snape continued making his way across to the other end of the classroom to his desk once again. No one spoke a word.

"…you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

Granger's hand was of course the first and only in the air. Draco smirked as Snape took his time in calling on the impatient know-it-all before saying, "Very well – Miss Granger?"

She took no time at all before delving into the answer. "Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform which gives you a split-second advantage."

"An answer copied almost word for word from _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_," said Professor Snape, unimpressed. Draco sniggered admiringly. "But correct in essentials." The smile fell off Draco's face. "Yes, those who progress to using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; if it is a question of concentration and mind power which some," he turned his attention to Potter, and Draco followed his gaze, "lack," he finished.

But when Snape turned his attention once again to the rest of the class, Draco's eyes never moved from the glowering boy.

"You will now divide into pairs"— Pansy squeezed Draco's hand and looked around defensively, making sure that no one else was trying to steel her partner —"One partner will attempt to jinx the other _without speaking_. The other will attempt to repel the jinx _in equal silence_. Carry on."

Draco, however, had other plans on his mind.

"I'll talk to you later," he said half-heartedly to Pansy.

"But—" she started, but he cut her off by pecking her on the lips, and slipping out of the classroom, unnoticed through all the chaos that was ensuing around them.

The door clicked quietly shut behind him and he peered around. The hall was very quiet. Everyone was in class, and on the first day of school, no one but someone like Draco would ditch, and there was only one Draco. He did not, however, have an hour of relaxation leading up to his next class in mind.

Draco had work to do.

Over the summer during his correspondence with Montague, Draco learned of a secret room on the seventh floor of Hogwarts, sometimes called the Come and Go Room or the Room of Requirement. He knew where it was because of his encounter in his fifth year there when he had caught Potter and his band of DA members trying frantically to escape from it. Their Defense teacher that year, Professor Umbridge, had then led him and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad inside the room where they found overwhelming evidence of an illegal school organization. Draco grinned at the memory of Potter's face when he was caught…

He made his way up several flights of stairs from the Defense classroom until he came to a long blank stretch of wall framed by a window on one end, and a man-sized vase on the other. Taking a deep breath, Draco closed his eyes and remembered how they had entered the room the previous year. Then, his mind racing with the thought, _I need the wardrobe_, he walked back and forth before the stretch of wall and on his third detour, a door appeared which had not been there before.

Draco's face twisted into a greedy smile and he took a few purposeful steps forward and pushed the door open. At the sight of what the room held, Draco's breath caught in his throat. He let the door close behind him as he gaped at the enormous room before him. Light filled majestically, almost religiously into the room from the high windows, and walls were built out of random objects of incredibly differing variety. He imagined that these must be objects hidden by the Hogwarts student body over the course of hundreds of generations, and here he stood before them, like a spectator of history. The amount of worthless, yet meaningful manifestations that had accumulated was breathtaking.

How on earth was he supposed to find a Vanishing Cabinet in here amongst everything else? He began to walk up and down aisles, careful to remember exactly where the door was so he would not be late to his next class, which happened to be Potions.

The amount of stuff which had been hidden in this room over the course of countless years was incredible. He found a pile of smelly and crusty gloves, yarn, broken quills, confiscated objects such as Fanged Frisbees, one of which had enough life in it still to hover around the room, snapping at the occasional mothball. Around a corner he found dusty rubber ducks, broken watches, a smashed desk which was still littered with parchment, the list went on and on. It was just when Draco was starting to feel a little anxious about finding the cabinet before class started, that he turned a corner near the front of the room and saw it leaning against a wall of discarded articles.

Filled with ecstasy at such a small victory, he rushed towards it, his face shining, a genuine smile creeping along his face as his eyes scanned the object that might bring him the glory he wanted from the Dark Lord. He slowly reached up and ran his hands all alongside it. It really was real, here was the solution, standing before him, so solid he could _touch _it… He could feel all its imperfections, knots in the wood and a few scratches here and there. The door, when he opened it squeaked slightly, and the inside was dark and musty. Draco looked around for something to throw inside and found a candle somewhere off to the right. He gently tossed it into the cabinet and heard it roll until it just disappeared.

"_Lumos_," he said, and his wand instantly lit up at the tip and he cast the light inside the wardrobe to see if he could find the candle, but it was gone. There was, however, definitely a back to the cabinet. "_Scourgify!_" he said, and the dust within the cupboard vanished almost instantly. It significantly darkened the inside somehow, but the light from his wand cast a greater glow against the now clean walls of the cabinet. Draco was hesitant to get inside, for fear of getting trapped in limbo similarly to Montague a few years back, but he did not know how else he was going to be able to fix it without getting a little dirty.

He looked around the room for something that could serve as rope, and found several dusty, old bed sheets. He tied the end of one a pillar which looked fairly sturdy, and tied the other end to another sheet. He continued tying sheets together until the line he had fabricated was long enough to reach the cabinet. He tied the end around his waist as securely as he could, hastily strengthened the sheets with a murmured spell to reassure himself, and took a step in the wardrobe. It was big inside, enough to fit several Death Eaters, if not at least just one of the broad ones. Draco placed a hand on the left wall and pushed; nothing happened. He put his hand on the right wall and gave another shove; again, nothing happened. He took a deep, shaky breath and took one more small step towards the back wall and stared at it for a few seconds.

After a moment, he raised his hand up towards the back and started to push, but where he was sure the back had been moments ago, was now thin air. Frigid emptiness. He started to panic and took several steps back, clutching the sheets that secured him to remind himself that he was safe. He closed his eyes and leaned against a wall of junk near the cabinet and took a few calming deep breaths.

"This is pathetic, Draco." He could almost hear his father's disapproving voice. "You're too frightened to walk to the back of a cupboard in order to serve your Master—it should be you in my place here in Azkaban—"

Draco's eyes snapped open with a frightening determination in them. He took a few deep breaths and suddenly, without warning, jumped into the cabinet and ran as far as he could, freezing wind rushing past him, until it felt like he was being suspended in midair, still running, but completely immobile.

He was not standing on anything, and there was nothing around him but cold. It felt as though he should have been falling, but he did not move at all. His heart was pounding a violent tattoo against his Adam's Apple as his body heat slowly started to evaporate in the emptiness. The sheet he had tied to himself stretched out into what seemed like infinity behind him and he gripped it and pulled himself along it, his fingers stiff from the cold. The sensation was absolutely absurd, if not at all discomforting: he was not standing on anything, and each step he took did not propel him at all. He had to rely completely on the sheet and as he pulled himself to what looked like a light looming in the distance, he silently thanked himself for having thought of the life-rope.

The only sound as he pulled was his fast, heavy breathing. The light was growing, and the air started to warm, though it still pierced his skin, penetrated his clothes. He could not feel his fingers, until finally, his feet started gaining ground, and finally he could somewhat push himself forward through walking. The process was slow.

He was out of breath by the time he thankfully crawled out of the wardrobe, shivering, his entire body prickling as the heat started to return to his finger tips and make their way up his arms. He wrapped his hands around his ears, but it just hurt, so he lay on the floor, letting the heat take over all parts of his body at last. How Montague had survived that much cold for so long, he would never understand.

Draco heavily lifted his wrist to look at his watch and his heart jumped; class began in ten minutes, and he needed to get all the way down to the dungeons.


End file.
